Alpha Xander's Undoing Chasing my Unknown Mate Back novel Chapter 92

Chapter 92

Chapter 92

*Rory*

The chains woke me before the shouting did.

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They pulled hard, jolting me upright as boots thundered across the clearing. A torch went out in a rush of sparks, and the camp that had been quiet seconds ago erupted.

Venatorum. But not Durnham’s.

I knew it instantly-the way their voices barked sharp orders, the clang of weapons unsheathed, the rhythm of their attack. Scouts, not assassins. If it had been assassins, none of us would still be breathing.

One of them lunged for me first, smart enough to know I was the reason this camp existed. I swung with the only weapon I had-my chains. The links caught his shin, and he cursed as he stumbled. I threw myself sideways, yanking hard until the cuffs ripped my skin raw, and brought the chain up again.

This time it cracked against his knee. He went down with a howl, and I didn’t stop. I looped the chain over his neck and pulled until he choked, until another guard dragged him off me.

The air stank of blood and sweat and smoke.

Isaac burst past me, moving like a boy who didn’t belong here and a fighter who absolutely did. He moved with practiced precision-ducking one strike, catching another with the edge of his forearm, spinning into a kick that took a man off his feet. It startled me, the ease in his body, the way his scarred jaw set with focus instead of fear.

Then the ground shifted.

I felt it before I saw it-the air dampening, the soil slickening under my palms. Isaac’s hands lifted, and water bled out of the dirt as if the earth itself had been cut open. It rose in sheets and tendrils, unsteady but strong, curling around one scout’s legs and dragging him off balance. He slammed to the ground with a curse, choking as the water pinned him there.

Tidal wolf.

He had said it, but I hadn’t understood until now.

Another scout came at him, blade high, and Isaac pivoted clean, catching the man’s arm and twisting until the blade dropped. His movements were rough but effective, the kind of fighting taught by necessity, not training halls. He slammed his shoulder into the scout’s chest, drove him into the mud, and the water wrapped over him too.

A third man broke through the trees and came for me. He saw the chains and thought I was weak. He was wrong. I swung the links wide, catching him across the face with a metallic crack. He reeled, spitting blood, and I drove my knee up into his stomach. Pain shot through my own body from the cutt’s digging into bone, but I forced it down and yanked the chain into his throat. He went limp, collapsing at my feet.

The camp was chaos. Sparks from the dying fire lit frantic silhouettes. Durnham moved like a shadow among them, calm and cutting, every step efficient. He didn’t rush to me. He didn’t even seem to worry. That

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Chapter 92

composure chilled me more than the fight.

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One of the scouts tried again for me, and I yanked the chain so hard it tore skin. I caught his wrist and dragged him close enough to bite. My teeth broke flesh, and the taste of blood filled my mouth. He screamed, jerked back, and I swung the chain into his temple. He fell, skull cracking against the earth.

For a heartbeat, the clearing went quiet except for the ragged breaths of those still standing. Bodies littered the ground. The scouts had underestimated Durnham’s numbers-and Isaac.

I looked at him, chest heaving. His blond hair stuck to his forehead, his scar angry red against his skin, his hands dripping with water that had no business rising from dry earth. His eyes met mine for the first time, and I saw something raw in them-fear, yes, but also the edge of something he wanted to hide.

“You’re wasting it,” I spat, my voice hoarse, but louder than I meant. “You’re wasting everything you are, fighting for him.”

The words landed, sharp as any blade. He flinched, then snapped back, “You don’t understand what survival costs.”

“Oh, I understand.” I tugged the chains until they rattled. “I understand you’re strong enough to fight them and you’re still kneeling for him.”

His jaw clenched. His eyes burned, and I knew I’d struck something deep. His breath came too fast, and for one second I thought he might lash out at me the same way he had at the scouts. But then he turned away before I could push further, wiping water and blood from his palms onto his trousers.

The camp settled. The fire was coaxed back to life. Durnham barked a short order, and the Venatorum regrouped, dragging the scouts’ bodies into the trees. His calm hadn’t cracked once.

Isaac sat at the edge of the light, his shoulders stiff and his back rigid. The water had already seeped back into the soil, leaving mud and blood behind. He stared at the ground like he wanted to disappear into it.

I sank back against the stake, wrists throbbing, chest aching with more than bruises. My body shook, but not from fear. From fury. From the ache of silence where Zerina and Xander should have been.

I hated Isaac for fighting me when he could have freed me. I hated him more for fighting like that-for showing me the kind of power that could have broken my chains-and still walking back to his uncle’s side.

But beneath the hate was something else.

He wasn’t just Durnham’s shadow. He wasn’t just a boy with pity in his eyes. He was dangerous, and he was conflicted, and I couldn’t ignore the truth I’d seen in the water curling like a living thing at his command.

When the fire burned steady again, I closed my eyes, replaying the pull I had felt in my chest earlier, the ghost of Xander so close I had almost stumbled. Hope hurt.

But for the first time since the dungeon, I thought maybe I wasn’t the only one chained to a fight I hadn’t chosen.

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